


If The Mirror Showed No Faces

by QueenOfRohirrim



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Friendships, Eist loves Calanthe, F/M, Gen, Heartache, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Partners in Crime, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25494157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfRohirrim/pseuds/QueenOfRohirrim
Summary: Jaskier is missing Geralt terribly, so when an opportunity to perform for Skellige’s Royal Family offers a hefty distraction, he can’t very well refuse.The problem is, he meets Eist Tuirseach there, and somehow the love sick hound manages to convince the bard to help him in wooing his own beloved.Jaskier sees too much of himself in Eist, and too much of Geralt in Cintra’s Queen.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Eist Tuirseach
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	If The Mirror Showed No Faces

Jaskier had said his “farewell for nows” to Geralt just a month before. The Witcher had dropped him at Oxenfurt, promised, after a series of drawn out and dramatic pleas from the bard, to return before Summer’s end, and then went on his merry way to whatever beast awaited him next.

Jaskier began longing for Geralt’s company that very same night.

He’d already accepted the fact that he was very much in love with the brooding wolf a long time ago, but that only made the longing harder to stand. He worried for his Witcher, out there on the path, fighting monsters all alone with no one to help him tend to his wounds.

He’d hoped that teaching for awhile at Oxenfurt would take his mind away from the misery of being parted from his darling, but apparently that wasn’t going to be the case. Four weeks into the Spring term, and still, Jaskier could think of nothing but Geralt. Lovely. He really was stuck in this, wasn’t he? This love that he felt for the witcher...It was real. Almost too real, and it hurt like hell.

The loneliness, heartache, and his tiresome day to day routine as a professor lingered on and on and Jaskier found that he was just sinking further toward a deep dark depression. Something needed to change.

Luckily for him, destiny seemed to be feeling generous for once.

As the temperate Spring began to turn to the heat of Summer, Jaskier was surprised to receive a visitor. Well, several visitors, actually, as the man who had sought him out travelled heavily guarded. The armored party carried Skelligan banners and all of the knights who accompanied the friendly looking sorcerer wore the colors of the royal house of Tuirseach.

“You are Jaskier, aren’t you?” The sorcerer inquired once he’d dismounted from his horse. “Jaskier the Bard? Friend to Geralt of Rivia?”

Two knights swung down flawlessly from their mounts to accompany the man, as if Jaskier were some bulky fighting pit champion that could actually harm their magic wielding charge. 

“I am.” He confirmed, raising a brow at the guards. The sorcerer sent them away with a wave of his hand.

“My apologies, friend.” He nodded with a smile. “I am advisor to King Bran of Skellige. He insists on these good men looking out for me when my duties take me away from his court.”

“Ah,” Jaskier nodded. “Of course. That does make sense...I’m sorry, good sir. I don’t think I...” He extended his hand, which the sorcerer grasped firmly.

“Oh, I am sorry!” He apologized again with the utmost sincerity. “How forgetful of me! Rude, even. You may call me Mousesack. It is a pleasure to meet you, Jaskier. My Lady speaks so very highly of your ballads.”

“Your Lady?” Jaskier questioned the wizard. How could a King’s advisor be so ignorant of courtly titles? “The Queen, you mean? Queen Birna?”

“Ah, no, no.” Mousesack shook his head, letting a fatherly hand come to rest over Jaskier’s shoulders. “It is the noble and most fair Lady Almis that I speak of, my friend. The good King’s ailing sister.”

The knights who had accompanied Mousesack made to follow him and Jaskier inside to the bard’s living quarters, but again he halted them.

“Find yourselves a tavern, men! I’ll return to you after supper!” He declared. The party had no qualms about this, and quickly departed.

“Oh, do come in.” Jaskier invited his guest, even as they were halfway through his doors already. Skellige propriety at its finest, he thought to himself, offering Mousesack a seat near the hearth.

Some tea was prepared, chamomile, and Jaskier sniffed back a tear as a brief thought of Geralt floated through his mind.

“Now,” The sorcerer in the sitting room cleared his throat, recapturing his host’s attention. “To the business,” Mousesack accepted a cup that Jaskier offered and took a slow sip. “My dear Lady Almis has not been well for some time. A terrible sickness lies within her blood and none of my magic seems to be effective in curing it.”

Jaskier hummed, again, his mind drifting to Geralt for a split second as he wondered what this particular issue had to do with him.

“Midsummer will mark her thirty seventh birthday this year.” Mousesack continued to explain. “And as she grows weaker with each day that passes, such an occasion is cause for great celebration.”

Ah, there it was. He was being invited to perform.

“My dear Lady is very fond of your work, sir.” Mousesack pleaded his case. “And rest assured, if you would be so kind as to return to Skellige with me, your every need would be provided for. His Majesty, The King, He would see to that.” 

“Well,” Jaskier smiled kindly, finishing his tea and setting the cup aside. “I couldn’t very well refuse a royal invitation, now could I?” He was growing weary of Oxenfurt anyway, and surely this contract would be at an end by the time he was meant to meet Geralt at Summer’s end.

“Excellent!” Mousesack’s grim and desperate expression brightened again and he grasped Jaskier’s hand with both of his own. “Her Ladyship will be thrilled to meet you, I’m sure!”

She was indeed, and Jaskier adored the Lady Almis immediately upon being introduced to her.

“Such a sweet face.” The frail looking woman smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling, though they were tired and glossed with illness. “Come closer, my darling.” She beckoned, reaching out to Jaskier with a thin, bony arm that trembled with the effort she had put forth to lift it.

Jaskier gently took that shivering hand in his own and kissed it. “Lady Almis, your beauty exceeds every tale.” It wasn’t a lie. The King’s sister was weakened, her body damaged beyond repair by the disease that had ravaged it, but she was surviving still, and she had strength left behind those sparkling sea blue eyes to keep fighting. That was where her beauty triumphed so.

“Oh, I knew you’d be a flatterer.” She laughed softly, looking to her brother with an adoring smile as she held onto Jaskier’s hand. “Thank you, Brandon.” She told the king. 

“Aye, I know how you love the lad’s ballads.” The King of Skellige returned every bit of his sister’s love with naught but a look between them. “Her favorite’s “Winter’s Wind”. Sing that for her first at supper tonight. You’ll be joining us in the dining hall.”

“I’d be delighted.” Jaskier lied.

Winter’s Wind. Fucking glorious. Nothing could possibly hurt his heart more than a lonely tune lamenting his want for Geralt.

...

“The trees share my sorrow,   
Golden tears they do shed,  
When the Winter’s wind whispers your name,  
Oh why, love?   
Oh why, love?   
Why must you go?   
Would the cold weep if you never came?

Are her kisses so sweet, that you rush to her calling?  
You’ll find no heart beat in her breast!  
Oh why, love?  
Oh why, love?  
The ice witch will corrupt you!  
And leave me to lay you to rest.

Oh, promises, promises, love, you keep making!  
“Sweet darling, we’ll meet again soon”  
But soon might be long, love, it might be a life’s age,  
If you heed the howling wind’s croon.”

Lady Almis clapped her hands together, softly and to the very best of her ability as Jaskier took a bow.

“Thank you, Thank you.” He smiled proudly. “You’re far too kind. Truly.”

“Oi! Sing the one ‘bout the coins already!” The dear Lady’s less than polite son demanded from his seat between his mother and the king.

“Crach!” Bran reprimanded his nephew. “If you have a request for the bard, you’ll ask him properly!”

The boy was ready to argue but before he could get a word out against the King, the doors to the dining hall were shoved open and in walked a tall, black haired knight in fine golden armor.

“Late as usual!” King Bran growled at the newcomer, who grinned and tossed the helmet under his arm to the nearest attendant. 

Fuck. He was an absolute dish, wasn’t he? 

“Dearest brother...” Lady Almis stood with her nurse’s help, reaching for the tall, dashing sailor who lifted her into a hug and kissed her thrice upon the face. 

“Still looking lovely, big sister.” He grinned and helped the Lady back into her seat. “The years always seem to make Bran a bit fatter and grey in the beard, but you, I’ll wager that face will stay young and beautiful forever.”

The King growled again but his Queen and the Lady laughed at the handsome Jarl’s jests.

Yes. Jaskier knew who his most handsome knight was now. This was Eist Tuirseach. Grand Adventurer, Master of the Northern Seas, Jarl of Skellige, and The foolish bastard who’d asked for the hand of the Lioness without being mauled.

“Uncle!” Crach an Craite called for the Jarl’s attention, pulling a chair out at his side. “Sit next to me! I want to hear of the Kraken you fought!”

“It wasn’t a damned kraken, boy.” The King scoffed. “Ask his first mate. Your Uncle hauled a squid up onto the deck like an idiot and it nearly took his hand off.”

“Now, now, Brandon, what did Mother always say? Liars will be diers if their fibs go catching fires.”

“She said that to you, ye bleedin’ numbskull! And I’ll say it to you again!”

Jaskier would have laughed but that would have been terribly rude, as well as possibly treasonous. 

“Don’t let your petty jealousy rob our poor nephew of a good story.” Eist continued to push his luck with his brother, sitting down at the table to entertain Crach with a tall tale of his own crafting. 

“Jealousy be damned!” Bran snarled, and Queen Birna touched his arm to settle the fiery temper ready to flare. 

“My Love, peace.” She pleaded, looking to Jaskier then with a kind smile. “Sing something for me, good sir.” She requested. “Something with a happy ending. No more grief.”

“Toss a coin to your witcher,  
Oh, Valley of Plenty...”

Jaskier’s eyes fell upon the raven haired Jarl, and a sly wink made his heart jump into his throat. 

...

The Birthday Ball for Lady Almis wasn’t to be held until the Eve of Midsummer, so Jaskier found himself having quite a bit of free time to explore the castle and it’s grounds.

Quickly, he discovered the perfect place to compose in the gardens that were kept by Queen Birna and her hand maidens. Not only was it a quiet and secluded place, far from the noises of the training yard, but it was beautiful as well.

White lilies, roses of vibrant red, the pinkest carnations he’d ever seen, tulips as purple and regal as the King’s banner, and even a few rare, color filled orchids surrounded him with their majesty.

It was the soft and gentle grace of the bluebonnets, however, that provided him with the most inspiration. They were almost the same sea water shade as the Lady’s twinkling eyes.

“Fairest flower, your smile enchants me,  
Your eyes shimmer like the sun on the waves,  
A siren you can’t be, for they often turn nasty,  
But you, dear, your grace, it remains.

Oh dearest flower of Skellige,  
The Isles are singing your praise.  
Loved you are, darling, and none can be blamed,  
You’ve claimed all their hearts with your glorious gaze...”

“Sir Jaskier!” 

The bard turned, startled, to the voice that had beckoned him away from his work. Eist, the handsome Jarl, was leading his sister through the gardens towards him.

“My dear Lady! Most honorable Jarl!” The bard sat his lute carefully aside and bowed to the royal siblings. 

“Very sorry to disturb you.” Eist smiled kindly, looking to his sister with complete and utter fondness in those same sea blue eyes. “Almis likes to walk through the gardens at day’s end. Sunset gives the flowers an added charm, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, without a doubt.” Jaskier nodded, boldly meeting Eist’s eyes once they’d latched themselves onto him.

“My Lady,” a nurse came hurrying after her mistress with pale worry in her face. “It’s time for your treatment. Won’t you come with me?”

Almis sighed and looked to her brother. “I’ll take my leave of you now.” She told him, regretfully, and he bent to kiss her forehead.

“Worry not, dearest. I’ll find you before supper. Perhaps we’ll be able to sneak a bit of early dessert from the kitchens before Bran arrives, hmm? I’m told the cooks are preparing your favorite pudding tonight.”

“Oh, you.” Almis kissed her brother’s cheek before reaching out to take her nurse’s arm. “Until then, baby brother. Don’t forget about me.”

“Never.” Eist promised, watching his sister be led back to the safety of the castle walls before he turned to Jaskier.

“Convenient, that was.” The bard smiled seductively. “Seems we’re alone now, Jarl. Whatever are we to do with the time?”

Eist raised a brow at him, confused, and Jaskier suddenly realized that somehow he’d been managing to read this man wrong since their first meeting.

“You thought I sought you out for a romp in the sheets?” The black haired sea hound bit his lip to stifle a laugh.

“Well! There’s no need to look so amused, now is there?” Jaskier huffed, placing his hands against his hips. “You’ve been eyeing me up and down for days, sir hound! Forgive me if I misinterpreted your intentions!”

Eist did laugh then. “I’m sorry,” His eyes glistened as he chuckled at Jaskier’s outraged expression. “I had no idea that I seemed so wanting.”

“Hungry is the word I would use.” Jaskier muttered, sitting down again with his lute in hand. “If you don’t wish to excite a man so, keep those wonderful eyes from sparkling at him all the time.”

“Truly, I am sorry.” Eist assured him once more, nodding to the bench that Jaskier had occupied. “May I sit? I did wish to speak with you. The matter’s quite urgent.”

“Well, It’s your castle, isn’t it? Do as you please.” Jaskier grumbled, tuning his lute and refusing to look up at the Jarl with the shameful blush that now covered his face.

“Bard, you’re a man of words, aye?” 

Fuck. He had to look at the man to talk to him, didn’t he?

“I suppose.” Jaskier sighed. “Wouldn’t be very good at my job if I wasn’t. Why do you ask?”

Eist reached into the pocket at the front of his shirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper. 

“I’ve something for you to put to music, if you wouldn’t mind.” He told the bard, unfolding the heavily worded note gently and passing it over for Jaskier’s inspection. “And if you have any suggestions for improvement, I’m not unwilling to compromise.”

Jaskier was baffled until he began to read the scribblings upon the wrinkled paper.

It was a poem. A love poem. A very GOOD love poem.

“Oh, my. Wow. Okay. This is...You’re quite a gifted wordsmith yourself, my dear.” He muttered to Eist as he followed the endearing words to the very bottom of the page. “You do understand that this is a very foolish stunt, however?”

He gave the Jarl a pointed look but Eist only smiled and shrugged. “The prize is greater than any fear of failing.” 

“You escaped Calanthe’s claws once.” Jaskier reminded him. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll walk free again. She might bloody well slice off your balls this time.”

“If she wishes it so, I’ll gladly walk away The Gelded Sea Hound of Skellige.”

“That’s...Rather romantic, actually.” Jaskier admitted to himself. “But stupid all the same!”

“Bran always did say I was foolish.” 

Jaskier growled and pocketed the poem. “Oh, fuck off, you adorable oaf.” He grumbled at Eist. “Who do you think you are? Charming an innocent bard into this suicidal seduction of yours?”

“You’re going to help me then?” Eist chuckled at the shorter man, who was standing now in an effort to appear taller than him.

“Well I can’t very well refuse, can I?” Jaskier shoved an accusing finger into the Sea Hound’s chest. “You ridiculously precious, pea brained, scoundrel! Leading me into the Lion’s den with this nonsense...”

Eist snorted. “I like you, Jaskier.” He declared, as the bard rolled his eyes.

Jaskier stopped his ranting for a moment and damn it, he couldn’t continue to shout at this man! Not when he was smiling up at him so sweetly, looking like a loyal dog wagging its tail at its beloved master.

He sighed and sat back down next to Eist, pulling his flask from the inside of his doublet and taking a long drink. “I suppose I rather like you too, darling.” He admitted, offering the liquor to his new friend, who accepted it with glee. “Now, about your poem...”


End file.
